Accidentally
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: Tumblr Whouffle Prompt: In a moment of adrenaline, the Doctor kisses Clara (like he does with Jenny or Tasha or Rory). Later, she asks if it means anything and a meaningful discussion & smut follow suit.


"We're alive!"

The exclamation comes as they've just run their way through a building, explosions sending bits of robotic monsters, jelly-like insides, and building remnants out all around them, and rocketing them out through the back door onto the dusty pavement. The Doctor's knees and elbows are on fire from the fall, but when he looks to his side and see's Clara rolling herself over into him, he's astonished and gleeful. His eyes do a quick once over, seeing her own scraped knees and elbows, and he does the only illogical thing he can think in the moment.

He kisses her.

His hand drives itself through her thick hair, cradling her head as he crushes her lips with his own, as he'd done to far too many people in the past, except unlike all of the others, this time he understands the implications. He grasps the action just as he's completing it, and he sighs. It a simple exhale against her small nose as his lips break from hers and he smiles down at her before awkwardly bringing himself to stand, looking down at the perplexed look on her face.

"Clara Oswald!" He drops his hands to grasp hers to help her up, "We're alive."

"Got that, Doctor," she responds with a nod, eyes still saucers trained on him as she plucks her hands away and dusts them against her skirt, frowning when she finds a tear and it's then that she glances away and he exhales again, this time with relief because he'd expected a slap and he was sure, this time, he'd have been dejected instead of thankful to feel the sting of fingers across his cheek.

And he stops to consider why. Why would being rejected by _Clara_…

The Doctor pretends to examine his own body, fingers smoothing his coat, testing his Sonic, Sonicing the air around him on a twirl before raising his eyebrows and stopping, glancing sideways at her. She's sneaking looks at him, purposely avoiding his eyes and he frowns at the way her lips are drawn together, as if examining them for damage that hadn't happened in the blast… but would have happened because of him. As if his kiss had injured her. The notion was worse than a slap, and he hates that it deflates the sense of excitement he'd had.

"Tardis is waiting," he tells her, shaking his head because the words had escaped as more of a command than an cry of joy – how he had intended for it to come out. How it would have come out if she weren't now bringing a tentative finger to her chin, slipping it up over her lower lip… still testing.

They trudge towards it, reddened limbs beginning to ache properly as they step inside and Clara immediately disappears into the bowels of the ship as the Doctor makes his way to the controls, head dropping as he takes them into the vortex and out into the space that sits around the Earth – her time. He imagines she'll just want to go home now. Getting almost blown up would take it out of any person, but also being kissed without… he slaps himself on the forehead and turns to look towards the hall.

"Clara?" He calls, making his way through the Tardis, peering into random rooms and frowning when he doesn't find her in her bedroom. And then he hears a small hiss and makes his way towards what he would best describe as a sort of medical bay. It housed all sorts of equipment that didn't work, a couple of old hospital beds from a few different planets, and cabinets filled with all sorts of remedies that, he knew, had probably expired.

And she's leaned against a counter, cardigan lying beside her, with her sleeve pulled up, patting at her wounds with a strip of gauze soaked in, he could see, alcohol. She shouts out against the pain and he moves inside quickly, crossing the space and taking her elbow in his hand as she tells him, "No, it's ok, I've got it."

"You should have told me," he whispers, looking the scrape over before glancing into the cabinets, "There are far less painful remedies." He offers a smile and she ducks her head, then turns away as he releases her to search, bringing down another bottle and grabbing a new pad to soak, holding his hand out and waiting for her to give him her arm.

Clara snatches the item away and presses it to her elbow and closes her eyes because the soothing sensation that reaches up from the warm liquid instantly numbs the affected area enough that she releases a small groan. And then she switches the pad to the other elbow while glancing down at her knees, judging whether they were banged up enough to need tending to, or whether she could live with just bandages.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor tells her quietly, pressing his palms into the counter behind him. He eyes her, the way she's standing just a few feet away with her head bowed, and feels a small pang of sadness press into his hearts at the way her shoulders slump.

With a long inhale, she turns suddenly and offers, "It's alright. Few bumps and bruises… I've been on a playground or two in my da…"

"I'm sorry about the kiss," he interrupts, straightening to see the way her eyebrows rise slightly in a way that conveys she'd been thinking about it as well. Lips pressing together tightly, he clasps his hands in front of him and shrugs, "I'm sorry."

Clara opens her mouth to start a sentence and then stops herself, taking a half step forward, gaining his attention, and he can see there's a question in her mind, one she's not letting escape. He's seen her do it before, seen her on the verge of some thought a thousand times and then she holds back. It's one of the things that frustrates him about her – that little secret in her mind she wants to tell him, but instead tucks back away, as if he's not allowed to know.

With a quick turn of his body, he drops his coat off his shoulders and lays it atop the counter, looking to his own elbows with a frown and a sigh. Behind him, he can hear her, still silently standing there, watching him. The Doctor wants to bellow at her to spit it out, but instead, he takes the gauze on the counter, stained in her blood and drenched in alcohol and he slaps it to his right elbow with a grimace as she huffs a laugh.

"Suppose it is amusing," he tells her with a half turn of his head, catching the small smile on her lips and that she's nearer to him by two steps. "Big ol' Time Lord, thousand year old man… still thinks about his _mummy_ when he's nursing a _boo boo_."

There's a hand at his arm and he shifts towards it, finding her peering down at him just before she takes the gauze away from him and shakes her head, "Don't be an idiot," she warns, reaching up on tip-toe to get the bottle he'd used for her. Clara lets it slam down on the counter as she rips another section of gauze out from a box and lifts his arm, dabbing some of the concoction down on it. "Are you always so stubborn?"

"Me?" He laughs, "Maybe I get it from my companions?"

She snorts lightly and moves to his other elbow and he allows her to, watching the way she tends to him gingerly, fingers holding his arm softly as she tries to take a swipe at his wound before sighing, "Pop your shirt off."

"Excuse?" He manages, words caught in his throat at the unexpected words.

Clara steps back and nods, "Quick as you'd like."

The Doctor touches the buttons of his waist coat and tilts his head, but she's crossed her arms, impatiently waiting. He removes the vest and then the shirt and she sets on him again, this time closer. This time with a pained concern as she looks over his elbows and then glances down at his knees. "You like the trousers off as well?" He says before he can stop himself.

Just as she's about to shrug and explain, "Would be easier," she stops herself.

Clara always stops herself.

She hands him the pad and turns away with a simple, "I'll be showering, got bits of… intestines… in my hair, I think…"

"Clara," he calls, but she steps away, "Clara," he repeats, moving forward and twisting her back into him, her palms landing flat against his chest, feeling the quickening of his heartbeats just underneath her fingers, "What is it?"

Her dark eyes lift slowly and when they meet his, he can see a question in them and a sudden bravery and she tells him, voice wavering, "I'm not sorry you kissed me," and then she nods, "In fact, you should do it more often."

The Doctor stares for what feels like an eternity, watching the dark of her irises edge out slightly and he's acutely aware that he's half naked. He also acutely aware that her fingertips are dragging slightly against his skin, back and forth, as if tempted to explore, restrained only by her incredibly willpower. Willpower, he smiles, he does not share. He ducks his head down and catches her lips and this time she answers with a soft moan of acceptance that bends him down towards her.

His hands slip around her waist to keep her from toppling backwards and she shifts in closer to him as his tongue breaks past her lips and circles hers, spinning in tandem with his head. He sighs as her fingers trail over his chest and tuck themselves into the edge of his trousers, again, restraining themselves and the Doctor inches back, glancing down between them as he pants heavily, before telling her softly, "Please."

The word is accompanied by a chuckle she mirrors as she slowly undoes the top button and the unzips him, letting the clothes drop over his thin legs and he looks over her blouse a moment before she lifts her hands to it, undoing the buttons carefully before dropping the material over her shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. Clara lifts her eyes again, but this time there's a devilish smile in them and he drops his lips to her collar, working his mouth over her skin as she sighs, then gasps when he drops lower, and then pauses, just between her breasts, breath coming out in ragged huffs against her. The Doctor glances up at her, fingers kneading at her back and she waits, looking him over long enough to set his loins on fire and then she utters, almost silently,

"Please."

His fingers lift and easily undo the clasp of her bra and before it's off her shoulders, he's tasting her right nipple with his tongue, suckling it lightly before shifting to the other, smiling against her when she digs her hands into his hair, urging him further down. A small nod against her, he kisses a trail towards her skirt, hands drifting down to find the hemline to lift it and then, taking a short breath of anticipation, he shifts over the bunched material and kisses her stomach, then lower, eyes closing when he feels her legs shift apart for him.

He presses hard kisses at her through her stockings and knickers, listening as each earns him a sound of pleasure until he breaths hotly against her and she cries out. Slowing dropping back and onto his knees, he glances up and in that one look they share, he lets her know – if they continue on, there's no going back. There's no stopping, no questioning, no _takesie-backsies_. And in the small smile she offers, surprisingly quickly, she almost dares him to before she undoes her own skirt and drops it to her feet, kicking it away with her shoes.

Clara strips herself of the stockings as he holds her steady and then she steps away, holding a hand out for him to take to rise and walk with her towards a blue hospital bed. He lifts her onto it and drops his fists into the thick mattress just as he takes her bottom lip between his, giving it a gentle tug she smiles into before wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer. He releases a groan when he leans firmly against her and rocks slightly, feeling himself hardening as she slips kisses down his jaw and onto his neck, nails scratching over his arms and stopping just before his injuries.

"Doctor," she sighs, shifting herself forward, edging herself into him to rub at his erection, "Please."

Hands sliding inwards, he tucks his fingers into her knickers and drags them over her legs, flicking them away with a surprised look and an awkward laugh, but before he can make a joke, she's slipping her palms into his boxers. She palms him, giving him a once over that causes him to croak as his head falls onto her shoulder. Reluctantly, he pulls away, the waistband snapping painfully against his skin and he lifts a finger, trying to regain his breath to remove the last bit of his clothes before raising his eyes to her.

Her legs are swinging, almost innocently, and he laughs at the chuckle she gives him when her eyes meet his and then he moves forward, fingers driving into her hair to bring her closer again. Her lips peck against his several times, delicately, and he sighs as her legs lift slightly to wrap around his body, tugging him to her and he reaches between them, sliding his fingers over her to test her wetness, eliciting a surprised shout just before he takes hold of himself and slowly guides himself into her.

Eyes closed against the welcome warmth, he groans into her hair as she sighs at his chest, and then he begins to shift. He starts tentatively, each stroke of his length massaging at her muscles, relaxing and opening her and the Doctor takes her face in his palms as he eases back, watching her closed eyes and her wrinkled brow and the way her chest heaves in the bright lights. Clara moans and her face relaxes and then she glances up at him, and that secret she's held onto is no longer hidden.

Her mouth opens slightly and he finds it easily, letting her know in a passionate kiss that he feels the same as her heels dig into his back, urging him forward. They sigh against one another as he begins to rock against her, the bed giving a soft squeak each time their bodies connect and soon she's breathing roughly against his lips, so close to climaxing and he drops a hand between them to rub at her, begging her to come, whispering her name in her ear.

Clara cries out and then muffles her voice against his shoulder, smiling at her body's involuntary thrust up towards him as his movements become slightly erratic. Her orgasm clings to him in pulses that send him tumbling quickly over the edge and he bends to bury himself further into her, one arm carefully holding her steady as his other shakily holds himself upright. The Doctor kisses her shoulder and up her neck and he breathes a laugh in her ear, listening to her doing the same.

"We need to get blown up more often," he breaths, shifting back and glancing down at the space where they still sat, joined together and he shifts into her as she releases a small breath of surprise before laughing again.

"Or simply keep the explosions in the bedroom."

He touches his forehead to hers and sighs, "You're right, Clara." Nudging her nose with his own, he nods and offers, "I should kiss you more often."


End file.
